


Lines Crossed

by kirallea



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Character Study, F/F, Healing, Outer Space, Post-Canon, Sharing a Bed, Spaceships, Unresolved Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-04
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-15 16:55:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29192649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kirallea/pseuds/kirallea
Summary: Before, there were no options. These days, the world is full of possibilities.
Relationships: Adora/Catra (She-Ra)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 69





	Lines Crossed

“What?” Catra says, barking out the word. She stares at Adora, eyebrows scrunched together, eyes filled with fire and defiance and so much hurt that it makes Adora’s heart ache. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Adora blinks.

“Like what?”

Catra looks down at the floor. Her left ear twitches. When she speaks next, there is no bite in her tone, only resignation. “Like -- like you feel sorry for me.”

“I don’t,” Adora says. She can hear the confusion, the helplessness in her own voice. “I was just -- thinking.”

The tension in Catra’s shoulders melts away, and her body sways a little, as if she’s unable to hold up her own weight. Ever since they left Etheria exactly twelve hours ago, she’s been like a wound-up spring, short-tempered and tight-lipped. Adora has done everything she can to make her feel at ease, from trying to coax her into exploring the ship with her to staying out of her way, but nothing seems to work. Maybe it was a good thing, after all, this sudden burst of repressed emotion. Still, it doesn’t make any of this any easier. 

(She can handle it. She knows it’s an act of defense, that there’s no real malice in it. It’s not easy, what they’re going through.

But it breaks her heart to see her like this.) 

Adora reaches out on instinct, touching Catra’s elbow. She trails her fingers down her arm, takes a hold of her wrist. 

“Are you okay?”

Catra turns her head, looks away from her.

“Yeah,” she says, mumbling. “Feels weird to be here.”

Adora heaves a sigh. “I know.”

Around them, Darla hums and breathes in her own way, the dashboard alive with lights and indicators and gauges. She’s on autopilot, headed vaguely in the direction of Krytis. Entrapta has spent weeks repairing the ship, to the point where she’s fully automated, capable of navigating the galaxy on her own. So far, it’s been smooth sailing for them, at least when it comes to the journey itself. 

Adora lets go of Catra’s wrist, not knowing what to say. This was a terrible idea. Back on Etheria, they had been so excited about taking Darla on a test drive before the big space road trip, which they have been planning since the end of the war. She should have known Catra was not ready for this. She should have known it was too early for them to come back, the memories still fresh in their minds, the wounds not completely healed. Stupid, irresponsible, reckless--

She catches a glimpse of movement out of the corner of her eye, but before she can take a second look, Darla takes a sharp dip to the right, tilting to the side before correcting her course. It’s enough to knock her off her feet, and she lands on her hands and knees on the floor, a surprised gasp spilling from her lips. Somewhere near her, Catra falls on her side, her body sliding across the floor, away from Adora.

“Adora,” Catra says at the same time as Adora says, “No--”

She crawls closer to Catra, and Catra reaches out for her, their hands meeting halfway. They’re always gravitating towards each other, always in each other’s orbits, even when there’s unresolved tension between them, a jumble of unspoken words. It’s something she has learned to never take for granted, especially after everything they’ve been through. 

“What was that?” Adora asks.

“Something was approaching us,” Catra says. “An asteroid, I think.”

“Darla’s sensors must have picked it up,” Adora says. “She has been programmed to avoid collisions.”

Catra only huffs in response, throws a quick glance around the room. “Where exactly are we headed? Are we still on the right course?” 

“I think so,” Adora says. “I have some maps here somewhere, in my bag--”

The bag sits precariously on the command chair, its contents spilling out. She pulls it down onto her lap, spreads the maps on the floor in front of her, and bends over for a closer look, but then a soft chuckle pulls her back to reality. Catra is shaking her head, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

“You’re such a weirdo,” she says, voice brimming with fondness. “The ship’s computer contains tons of information, including maps, but you’d rather look at the old paper ones.”

Adora’s lips are starting to twitch, too. “Shut up. It’s more fun this way. Come here.”

Catra scoots closer, bumps her shoulder against Adora’s; a cautious display of affection, a wordless apology. Their hands rest next to each other on the floor, pinky fingers almost, almost touching. 

“This makes no sense,” she says. “I don’t even know what I’m supposed to be looking at.”

“Let’s start here,” Adora says, pulling one of the maps closer to them. “We passed Karabris not too long ago, so I’d say we are -- somewhere around here.”

Catra leans over to see what Adora is pointing at, hair falling in front of her eyes. “So, do you still want to go back to Krytis?”

“No,” Adora says. “The question is, where do _you_ want to go?”

\--

Sometimes, Adora stays up at night simply because it’s the only time of day she can be herself. She is sixteen years old, and the clock on the wall reads sixteen minutes past two, the only indication of time passing in the dark, windowless room. She sits on her bed, knees pulled up to her chest, arms wrapped around them. Before her, a comforting sight: a soundly sleeping Catra, all curled up at the end of the bed, head propped on her arms.

Someone keeps tossing and turning in their bed somewhere nearby, the sheets rustling with every little movement. The chill of the room makes Adora shiver, the hairs on her arms standing up under her shirt.

She takes in Catra’s familiar figure, the curve of her back, and her heart flutters like a caged bird. There’s an invisible line between the two of them, a boundary that cannot be crossed. Adora reaches out her hand, lets it rest on top of the blanket. Thinks better of it, hugs her arms closer to her body. _Why do you always sleep at the foot of the bed? I want--_

But it doesn’t matter. What she wants never matters. It’s one of the many lessons her time in the Horde has taught her; the heart should not be trusted, should not be listened to, even when it’s telling the truth.

It’s a bizarre paradox, something she still has not quite figured out. _You are a valuable asset to us, but what you feel is irrelevant. You will go on to do great things, but you must lose your personality in the process. We need you, but we don’t want you, the real you._

And suddenly, it’s too much for her, the blatant unfairness of it all, the endless cycle of fear and pressure and shame. She lies down on her back, slides her legs under the covers. Rolls onto her side and squeezes her eyes shut. Responsibilities, duties, assignments. _Focus on what you can control._ But how could she, when the heart is louder than the mind?

\--

Midnight comes and goes. The overhead lights have dimmed, and the engine has quieted to a gentle hum, a soothing background sound. They’re still on Bright Moon time, trying to maintain a healthy sleeping schedule, which is easier said than done when they’re essentially floating in space. Catra retired to the bedroom a while ago, tired after a long day of travel. Adora had been too wired to even consider sleep, mind fully alert, thoughts scattering in a hundred different directions. A moment alone with the stars, and she’s starting to feel the tug of that urge again, the urge to go check on Catra, even though there’s nothing to be worried about. The next thing she knows, she’s back on her feet, her boots clacking against the floor, the sound too loud in the quiet hallway of the ship.

(Old habits die hard. She’s a work in progress, still in the process of reinventing herself. It’s not easy. It’ll never be easy.)

Adora slips through the bedroom door, waits for it to slide shut behind her. Catra lies curled up on the bed, facing away from the door. It’s impossible to tell whether she’s asleep or not. Adora steps out of her boots and crawls onto her side of the bed, quiet like a ghost. Carefully, she rolls over to her side, stares at Catra’s back through heavy-lidded eyes. There are three, four inches between their bodies, carefully calculated, carefully maintained. She has always been good at keeping distances, good at not crossing lines. Always the responsible, obedient cadet, always the self-sacrificing hero, even here, even now.

(She remembers sitting on the edge of this same bed not long ago, remembers the rigid outline of Catra’s body, the painful twinge in her own heart. She doesn’t think about it. She refuses to think about it.)

She’s holding her breath now, hand inching closer to Catra, fingers itching to touch her. Three months after the fall of Prime, three years after her departure from the Horde, and she’s still cautious, careful. She thinks she’ll always be careful, even when she has been given permission to touch, permission to love. But the heart refuses to stay silent, its voice crystal clear in the space night. _I want, I want, I want--_

\--and then Catra shifts and leans back against her, pressing her body against Adora’s chest. She finds Adora’s hand in the darkness, pulls her arm over her like a blanket, and doesn’t let go. 

Adora lets out an exhale, allows herself to relax against Catra. It’s impossible not to melt into her inviting warmth, not let her legs tangle with Catra’s, not to bury her face in her hair. It was supposed to be dangerous, crossing the line, a misfortune waiting to happen. But she’s slipping through the cracks now, and finally, _finally_ , things are starting to fall into place. 

Something soft brushes against her leg, and a moment later, Catra’s tail wraps around her ankle. She’s tracing Adora’s knuckles with her index finger, the touch feather-light. Adora closes her eyes and falls asleep listening to the sound of her heart. 

\--

It starts like this, with an immeasurable distance, a blip on the radar. Adora stands on the bridge and watches it happen. At first, there is nothing. Then, a flicker of light in the horizon, no bigger than the head of a pin. Darla’s sensors are picking up a steady stream of signals, lights blinking and gauges spinning. _Approaching the final destination. Ready for landing in two hours, twenty-four minutes._

From here on, it’s surprisingly easy, bridging the gap, crossing the seemingly endless stretch of emptiness. The planet comes into view slowly, commanding her attention. She knows nothing about this place, wouldn’t even be able to pronounce its name, but Darla tells her it’s not unlike Etheria, the geological and chemical compositions of the two planets oddly similar. No dangerous life forms, no unidentified menaces. A safe place for exploration, familiar and foreign at once.

And then, Catra is there with her, her hand finding Adora’s, their fingers lacing together. Adora shifts her weight on the other leg, allows her shoulder to brush against Catra’s. They’re doing this a lot these days, their outlines melting into each other, loose ends weaving together. There is nothing complicated about it. The simplest form of magic, always present whenever they need it.

It’s a wonderful thing, witnessing this miracle together. They’re close now; all she can see is a wide expanse of land, the details obscured by a layer of gray-purple clouds. There’s no need to sit down. This time, Darla doesn’t even tremble. 

She lands gracefully, finds her footing on the hard surface. The engine lets out a sigh before falling completely silent. 

“Is that it?” Catra sounds as suspicious as she looks, her features set into a scowl.

“There’s only one way to find out.” Adora gives her hand a gentle tug. “Come on, Catra. Do you really want me to be the first one to set foot on this planet?”

Catra snorts. 

“No way,” she says, and there’s that smile Adora has missed so much, small and mischievous and beautiful.

The planet looks like it has been in the throes of a decade-long winter. The trees are sturdy and tall, branches twisted towards the sky as if gearing up for a fight. The soil seems rich and fertile, but the ground is mostly bare, with the exception of a few tufts of grass-like plants here and there. It’s not difficult to imagine what the place must have looked like before the magic was sucked out of it: lush and green and impossibly vibrant, exotic birds singing in full-leafed trees, butterflies flitting from flower to flower.

“Maybe I can help,” Adora says.

She closes her eyes, magic already tingling at her fingertips, but then there’s a hand on her wrist, warm and distracting.

“It can wait,” Catra says. “Walk with me for a while, okay?”

Adora opens her eyes, realization blooming in her mind. Before, there were no options. These days, the world is full of possibilities.

She lets her eyes sweep over the landscape. On their left, far in the distance, there’s a long chain of mountains, the peaks wreathed with clouds. On their right, behind the trees, a sparkle of something, a body of water glinting in the light.

“Which way should we go?”

Catra turns her head, glances at her. Her expression is impossibly soft.

“Why don’t you choose, Adora?” 

Adora does. She makes the decision on a whim, lets her heart have a voice, and finally, _finally_ , she doesn’t have to come up with excuses not to listen to it.


End file.
